Time Mends
by SSVCloud
Summary: They say that time mends all wounds. They never said how much time.


It has been five years. Aku's laughter still haunts your dreams from time to time. When you wake and your bed is empty, the memory still cuts into you like a knife. "Ashi…" you whisper sadly. You have to remember her.

It has been ten years. While you are at your father's funeral, you realize that you never learned the Scotsman's name. You are struggling to recall things he said to you. You can only recall his laughter. And "Shut it!" It almost makes you laugh. People stare.

It has been thirty years. Time still does not touch you. Your children look like siblings. Your second wife, who you love dearly, looks like a mother. You are starting to forget what Ashi looked like. How her face crinkled when she smiled or the way her lips felt against yours.

It has been sixty years. Your children look older than you. Some of the resent the fact that it seems you will be the Emperor until the end of time. One of your sons even tried to kill you and you had to execute him. You did not feel the heartbreak a father should. There was only a dull, vague ache.

It has been two hundred years. You have tried to use your memories of the technology of… _Aku's?_ time to advance your own people. Men come from the West with guns and bombs and their God. They are surprised that you speak their languages. Trade is established without bloodshed, ensuring the safekeeping and prosperity of your Empire. She would be proud… what was her name? You… you cannot remember.

It has been one thousand years. You have left your Empire in the hands of your descendants. You have left your sword behind. Why bother? It is for an enemy long dead. You wander the world, trying to find the things that will make you remember those you miss. People from a lifetime that didn't happen. The… the Athenians? No, that wasn't it.

It has been two thousand years. Dogs are walking upright. This makes you smile though you do not know why. Races from beyond the stars are starting to travel to your world and they seem _almost_ familiar to you. Why? Why can't you remember?

It has been three thousand years and you are sick of the Earth. You have walked every inch of it, swam to the deepest parts of the ocean, travelled out past the cloud cities to the moon. You are sick of this place. You are sick of the world changing around you while you remain static and unchanged, a single, unbroken line in the tapestry of time. You fear you are losing your mind. You cannot remember anyone or anything from a universe that never existed. There are only phantom fingers of a life you did not live clawing at your mind. The fighting, the killing, the fear, the hunger, the suffering, the loss. The loss. You would give anything to even see a bounty hunter. At least someone trying to kill you would be familiar. So you are taking a rocket ship, whatever you can afford, a oneway ticket to the furthest point in the known universe. Maybe out there, you will find something new. Maybe out there, you will finally die.

On your way to the spaceport to purchase your ticket, someone bumps into you and a jolt rushes through you at the sound of his voice.

"Eh! Watch where yer goin', laddeh!" You look him up and down in shock as everything rushes back to you. He has both of his legs. He has his sword. "What're you lookin' at, eh?" he asks in his brusque manner.

"Forgive me," you say with a bow. "What is your name, stranger?"

"Fergus," he replies, spittle flying from his lip and nearly making you laugh. "What's it to ya?" You notice the pack he has over one shoulder and feel compelled to continue this conversation.

"Where are you headed?"

"Me an' my crew are headin' out to the stars, seein' what adventure's out there for us."

"Your crew?"

"Oy! Fergus!" A woman's voice bellows and Fergus's face lights up. "How's a crew supposed to get anywhere with its' captain draggin' his fat fookin' arse?" Even if you could not recall her voice as it suddenly rushes back to you, his reaction is memory enough. You both turn and the crowd parts. The sight nearly takes your breath away. Fergus's wife, the Spartan, a Triseraquin, Extor, Colin Bartholomew Montgomery Rothschild III! You even see someone who looks like a descendant of the Shaolin Monks. Although you wonder how they will all manage to fit inside the ship, which looks to be a worn-down vessel, probably something Fergus bought secondhand and did his best to restore.

"Comin', ma darlin' buttercup!" Fergus calls toward his wife.

"Wait!" you cry as Fergus starts to turn to leave. "May I come with you?" Fergus looks at you curiously for a moment and shrugs.

"Yeh, alright," he mutters amicably. "But I will na' have any lollygaggin' on mah ship!" he warns you, wagging one of his enormous fingers in your face. "You'd best pull your weight, sonnyboy!" He looks you over again and cackles. "Then again, there's not much weight to ya , so per'aps you'll pull some o' mine as well!" he laughs loudly and you laugh as well, walking beside him towards a new adventure. "Tell first mate Azumi we're ready to shove off!" he declares as the pair of you walk onto the ship with the others.

"Who's this, then?" Fergus's wife asks as the hatch closes behind you. "And I still dinnae understand why I cannae be first mate!"

"Yer me wife," Fergus reminds her as you feel the ship rumble underneath your feet and walk toward the cockpit. "I cannae let y'be first mate! It wouldna be fair!" You reach the cockpit and the first mate in the pilot's chair turns to look at you.

You forget how to breathe. It could be her.

"Oh!" she greets energetically with a smile. "Hello there. I'm Azumi. What's your name?" For a moment you nearly tell her your true name. But it feels wrong to say it here, among these people. Your lips quirk up into a smile and, for the first time in three thousand years, you say…

"Call me Jack."

It has been three thousand and five years. Today you looked in the mirror and saw a wrinkle under your eye. You've never had one of those before. Your heart feels light. Life is good.


End file.
